(From journal, 22.3.005)
Dear Delia,
today we drove (You, I, your dad, our friend Brianne who has come to be with us) to Papa Jaaan (my mothers) house for the first time since she died. It was strange, everything was just as it was before she left, except for the piles of mail, the christmas cards still on the mantelpiece and the cold- no heating.
As i sat and fed you on the sofa, feeling sad she was not there, (tho it felt like she might walk in the doorway any moment) , it started to snow. Looking through the panoramic bay windows in front of me, beautiful , huge snowflakes swirling around outside against the green. I felt it was HER - in the snowflakes, visiting us for 10 minutes in a burst of energy, true to style. Fleeting, but reassuring.